


Healthy, Wealthy, and Wise

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Series: Alberta Bound [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, Canada, Cowboys, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-22
Updated: 2007-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean, Alberta-based rancher circa the mid-to-late 1800s, considers the future of his homestead. (Cowboy!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healthy, Wealthy, and Wise

**Author's Note:**

> In that [Request-a-Ficlet meme](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/256990.html) from a while ago, [](http://nieninque121.livejournal.com/profile)[**nieninque121**](http://nieninque121.livejournal.com/) asked for [Naive!Viggo/Sean](http://caras-galadhon.livejournal.com/256990.html?thread=2178270#t2178270), and surprise, surprise, the notion fit in beautifully with an idea I've been mulling over for months. So this fic is for her, _and_ [](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/profile)[**azewewish**](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/), who planted the idea of a cowboy AU starring Sean, Viggo, Karl and Dave in my head in the first place, _and_ [](http://cbpotts.livejournal.com/profile)[**cbpotts**](http://cbpotts.livejournal.com/) and [](http://savageseraph.livejournal.com/profile)[**savageseraph**](http://savageseraph.livejournal.com/), because I imagine the both of them could use some cheering up.

  


Perhaps he'd been naïve, Sean reflected; expecting a ranch house to run properly under the current conditions was optimistic at best and witless at worst, but he was happier for being of a solitary bent, and he wasn't about to rearrange his life -- not again -- in the name of simple convenience.

Besides, it wasn't as if Viggo didn't pick up his share of the chores -- when he remembered and when he wasn't off communing with the horses -- and both of the newest hires seemed to be settling in well. Sean didn't want to count his chickens, but with Dave proving to be so adept with a branding iron and Karl making plans to reinforce the sinking foundations of the bunk house, Sean might ask them to stay on once the season ended.

He inhaled deeply, sweet mown hay, the earthy scent of cattle and the slightest tang of resin from newly-split logs flavouring his tongue. He yearned to be out with the herd, but there were clothes and dishes that needed tending, potatoes to peel, and far more dust than even he could stand soundlessly building up on every surface. And with so much still to do before autumn turned, his were the only hands that could be spared.

In two months the seasonal workers would move on, leaving the little ranch to sink into the deep silence of winter, and that was how Sean liked it; with the saleable stock long since auctioned, the herd whittled down to essentials, the shift to a slower pace was welcome. He was at peace in his almost-solitude here -- plenty of room to lope, to ramble where he would without the worry of nosy neighbours, and no one but Viggo to wonder where he'd gone -- more so than he'd ever been back home. Although, he reflected, after so long away, the old world no longer felt like home, not even in his idlest daydreams.

Yet there was something comfortable about Karl and Dave, something that made the prospect of them as fixtures palatable, even if integrating them into the ebb and flow of the ranch would almost inevitably open the floor to questions from them both. He chose, however, to close his eyes to the possibility of having to explain himself and Viggo; occasionally, willful naïveté could come in handy. After all, he was certain that Viggo wouldn't mind two new pups to add to the pack; even for self-declared solitudes, a little bit of fresh blood could be a good thing.

That did not solve his immediate problems, however. He had competent ranch hands and an excellent -- if eccentric -- overseer, but the effort involved in housing and feeding his migrants was one that should not be attempted alone. When he left his life across the pond he'd never envisioned becoming slave to his own enterprise, tied to a stove and broom, providing the essentials that he could otherwise overlook if he installed a grand dame to keep his cowboys in line.

A shout beyond the curtains caught his attention, drawing him out of his reverie and back to realities born in grass, dirt and sweat. There was Viggo – bless his insane heart -- leading the late season foal back to the stable, waving his hat for all he was worth, grinning like the crazy bugger he was as he kicked up his very own tiny tornado of dust. Thank all the powers of Heaven and Earth that Viggo had a touch of magic to him; the little filly didn't even twitch at his capering, no doubt already under his spell.

Sean chuckled, returning the grin and wave with his own. The world would work itself out as it always did, his small worries nothing more than motes caught in a beam of light. A naïve assumption, perhaps, but he was happy in his self-constructed pastoral paradise, and he wouldn't let the lack of a firm feminine hand or the desire for new companionship disrupt his own Eden. He laughed a bit ruefully, rolling up his shirtsleeves, pouring water into washbasin, fingertips finding the first soaking plate; in some ways, it was a shame he was not more attracted to the fairer sex, for a woman about the place would make the business of bull and cow, stallion and mare, ranch and house run that much smoother. But he was optimistic enough to believe he could do without, and if that was naïve, then naïve he would be.

The door hinges squeaked, their warning falling on Sean's ears barely a breath before the floorboards joined the chorus. The footfalls were fully familiar -- heavy tread broken by lightness of spirit -- and he couldn't help but smile. One step and then another, drawing ever closer; it was as if he'd caught a predator's scent on the air, senses prickling to the thousand little clues every being gave away about itself. A moment's space, and warm, muscled arms curved about his waist, fitting _just so_ ; another beat, and they were joined by an exhaled greeting -- all the better for being hay-sweetened -- against his cheek. It was hard not to be optimistic when the new world had brought him wealth, health, and safety from prying eyes, a plot of land to settle and a mate to grow wise with.

Although perhaps next time he was in town, he mused, withdrawing water-wrinkled fingers from dishes to better map Viggo's skin, he should pull the feed store owner's wife aside; the only salve his soul lacked -- steeped as it was in peace and plenty -- was a decent remedy for washerwoman's hands.


End file.
